infusion VIII-XII

IV VIII

The smallest of birds calls out morning
rays of yellow sunflower

IV IX

Outside, wind and wild rye
a silent picture show

IV X

I talk to a mountain’s elegant shoulder. I say, “I’ll be there.”

IV XI

Caught in a labyrinth as fiendish as Daedalus’
thick with grass and sagebrush
I desperately seek wax or ten thousand balloons
I am poorly prepared in the ways of healing

IV XII

The dog rolls in the dirt
the glee of grass

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